Not Forge without Fred
by Firenze.Sun
Summary: "George Weasley wanted to die. He wanted to see the final hour now, so he could finally meet again with his brother. If he feel like dying with every second that went by, how it was possible that he hadn't died yet?" Angst. Obvious talk about character's death. And more angst. Slash or not as you will.


A/N: Actually, I wrote this more than a year ago, but I had never published on Well, I made this so it could be read in two ways. With slash or witouth it. That's the nice thing about art, it has as many interpretations as you want! XD With no further ado, enjoy!

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**Not Forge without Fred**

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George went to the bathroom as every morning. His eyes were still stinging despite he had been able to sleep. At this early hours his mind was still numb and reality seem something far away. He still waited for his twin to be waiting for him, with a playful smirk in his lips, asking him: "Why so Sirius?". But with every step, his brain was awakening more and more and reality was hardening more and more. At the same time, he turned away from it more and more. Because it couldn't be true, no, it couldn't.

Then, his tormented reflection looked him back. Those eyes so similar to his. The hair with the same lights, the same waves. That reflection almost perfect of what he had lost. But when the illusion became so real that it was unbearable, the big difference came to sight. The missing left ear. There was moment he was thankful for it because the perfect image of his brother would be too much. But there were other, when he hated it, the constant reminder of what he would never see again, if he had it back he will tear it from him.

Next, he focused on the eyes. So similar and yet so different. Because his brother's didn't have that gloom look, his were always shining plotting their next prank. His weren't red from crying till sleep, his were always happy. Were, because their owner was now dead. The ghost of the empty eyes chased him once more.

Soon, his body started shaking once more, possessed by the sobs. His hands clutched with such strength to the borders of the sink that the knuckles were white. He needed that his brother hugged him as when they were little and both of them suddenly woke up because one was having a nightmare. Those nights, they went to one's bed and hugged each other until the dark wasn't so frightening.

The memory was too much for George, crying wasn't enough anymore and he let a scream slip by his lips while his soul was tore apart once more. He let himself fall to the ground without caring if someone heard his cry.

Molly went upstairs as soon as she heard the noise and found his son lying on the floor, being consumed by sadness. As if the pain of losing one child wasn't enough, now she was losing another one. With one move, she kneeled at his side and hugged him hard.

"Easy, darling, easy. Mum is here. Easy," she said while she caressed him.

George grabbed his mother's hard, as if he was afraid that she would leave him also. The tears went fast across his cheeks, while living a salty taste in their path.

"I miss him so much, mum!" he said before his voice broke in another heartbreaking scream.

Molly couldn't say anything to comfort him; the lump in her throat was too big. Because… what do you say to a child that has just lost his soul mate. Nobody could just imagine one without the other; they were two persons that had born to be together, to live together. And if war and so many evil hadn't stumbled between, to die together. But it hadn't been that way, and the brothers were ripped off from one another.

George couldn't stop blaming himself. It should have been him, he should have been there to step in the middle, to save him. He should have been there. If he had been there nothing of this would have happened. Because when they were together, they were unstoppable. But now, they'll never be together again, never again the dynamic duo. George had not only lost his brother, his twin, his best friend, his partner in crime, his partner in life, but also his other half. They were two halves of one whole, and now only one was left, ripped and destroyed.

The tears dried, the sobs started losing their voice. After a while, George was left only hugging his mother, being comforted in the maternal love. Molly took him to bed, she tucked him in, and then she left to get him some food.

Someone who didn't know the depth of the relationship between both twins, would believe that after so many crying George would feel better. But it would have been wrong and by far, on the contrary, the twin was even worse. Now he was empty, nothing left inside of him, not even the oppressive sorrow. Loneliness, none to share the sorrows or laughs. Alone.

Molly had to hold down a sob when he came in with the food tray. Her son had the look lost in the ceiling, the dead eyes, the severed ear was out of sight, making him look as the corpse of his brother.

"George, dear, I brought breakfast," she said carefully to not use a hoarsely voice.

"Thank you, mum," there was a try of joy in that voice, he not wanting to worry his mother, but he wasn't successful. Death chased him even in the sound that went out from his lips.

Molly waited until she saw he started eating before leaving, she knew her son only ate to please her. The young men didn't want to live anymore.

George ate as mush as he could, he didn't want to bring unnecessary suffering. He ate until the food became a lump impossible to swallow in his throat. It was worthy to continue eating when he didn't have anymore a brother to make food jokes? Nothing was worthy anymore, not even to continue breathing. Now every time he inhaled, it was a knife stabbing him in the lungs, it was air his brother would never breathe.

With pain, he remembered the last time he saw him. When he looked him in the eyes and a part of him had known it was the goodbye. If he only had known better, he would have been able to say goodbye. He would have wanted to tell him a 'See you later', say one last time that he loved him, hug him, feel him in his arms once more. But they were too many 'woulds' and they were useless.

He knew his brother would have wanted him to be happy, that he learned to be happy alone. But it was not possible. He had never been the stronger of them both; maybe if the roles had been reversed the other one would have been able to bear the situation better. But it hadn't been that way. It was George Weasley who had survived, and he couldn't survive without the other one. It was as if you asked someone to survive without eating or breathing. It was impossible.

George Weasley wanted to die. He wanted to see the final hour now, so he could finally meet again with his brother. If he feel like dying with every second that went by, how it was possible that he hadn't died yet?

"Fred, please, come to take me! Take me with you!"

But his brother couldn't hear him, he was far away, beyond his reach.

"Fred…!" he cried once more when his twin didn't answer to his call.

Because without Fred he couldn't borrow the F to be Forge. Because without Fred, he wasn't a twin. Because without Fred nothing was well.

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A/N: Well, I hope you liked and noticed the two things I made on purpose. One I decided not to mention Fred till the very end. It serves as the denial and his mourning. Second, the end. I hope you can see the comparison to another end :) Hope you all liked!

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~Firenze


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